


waiting for the landslide

by mywordsflyup



Series: roommate au [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Concept Art Solas, Deaf Character, Falling In Love, Multi, Polyamory, Roommates, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5307212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas needs a roommate, Bull needs a place to stay and Cadash is the helpful dwarf-next-door who sets the whole thing up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waiting for the landslide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Byacolate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/gifts).



> For Byacolate because it's her birthday! Also because she won this in a giveaway months ago and I'm super slow. Olivin Cadash belongs to her. 
> 
> This prompt is too good for 5000 words. I want to write like 20 chapters about these idiots. What have you done??

The apartment building is small. The stairwell even smaller. The smallest thing of them all, however, is the dwarf who opens the door at the top of the stairs and takes in all of him with just the smallest raising of one eyebrow.

“Please tell me you’re here for the room,” she says and the grin on her face is razor-sharp. Kind of dangerous, he thinks. Kind of hot.

“I am. But you’re not the elf from the ad.”

“How very perceptive of you.” She leans her hip against the doorframe and folds her arms. The left one, he notices, is a prosthetic. It’s an impressive piece. Dwarven craftsmanship pulsing with rune magic. She wiggles her metal fingers when she catches him staring and cocks an eyebrow.

“But there is an elf, right?” he asks. “And a room to go with it?” He can still hear Krem berating him for looking for roommates on what he called “the dodgy end of the internet”. Perhaps the fact the he got the recommendation from Rocky should have been warning enough.

“Oh, there is!” The dwarf pushes herself away from the doorframe and closes the door behind her, forcing him to take a step back. “It’s a very nice room. Also a very nice elf, whenever he feels like it. Just utterly inept when it comes to computers. Positively elderly in that way. Good thing he has such selfless neighbors who were born in this century.”

It takes him a moment to realize that she is offering him her hand, too busy admiring the smooth flow of her little tirade. He shakes her hand, just a second too late, and it vanishes completely in his careful grip.

“Olivin Cadash,” she says and somewhere in the back of his mind, the name rings a bell. “Call me Oliv. The selfless neighbor in question.”

“The Iron Bull.” He waits a moment for the inevitable smart comment but Oliv just nods.

“Pleasure.” She squeezes past him and points up another flight of stairs. “It’s this way. More stairs, I’m afraid. Is that going to be a problem?”

It takes him a moment to realize that she is looking at his brace. “Most people don’t even notice it the first time. Too distracted by the horns.”

She grins. “Oh, they are distracting alright.”

“But I’m good,” he adds. “Not much of an elevator guy, to be honest.”

Another grin. “The horns?”

“Yup.”

They make it to the top of the stairs and somehow the building seems to become even smaller the higher up they get. Oliv stops in front of a narrow wooden door and it does not bode well for the size of the apartment behind it.

“So, the sign language thing in the ad,” Bull says before Oliv can ring the doorbell. “That was serious, right?”

She looks up and cocks an eyebrow. “Why? You think I would joke about something like that?”

“Don’t really know you well enough to tell,” he says even though he is pretty sure she wouldn’t.

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t. Solas is Deaf. I know sign language well enough but…” She waves at him with her prosthetic hand. “The friend who made this for me did great work but it’s not quite the same.” She grins. “Solas says he reads lips as well but it’s not an exact science. Also, he is pretty bad at it. But don’t tell him I said that.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” She raises her hand to ring the doorbell but stops mid air and turns her head. “You do know sign language, right?”

He signs his answer and she smiles before pushing the button next to the door.

For a moment, nothing happens. Bull cannot hear any bell but he assumes it’s a flashing doorbell anyway. Then, there is a quiet scuffling noise and a long sigh.

The man who opens the door does not look like the grumpy old man that Oliv described to him. It is difficult to tell with most elves but he seems to be around Bull’s age, with smooth dark skin, long dreads pulled back into a ponytail and sharp grey eyes that flick from Oliv to Bull and back again. He is tall for an elf, Bull notices, and dressed in a loose-fitting tunic and pants. Barefoot, as well.

There is a moment of silence as he takes in the scene. Then, he shakes his head. “I told you I don’t need a roommate,” he signs and moves to close the door in their faces. Oliv is quicker. With a little yelp she pushes past Bull and wedges herself into the space between the door and the frame.

“Yes you do!”

Judging by the eyeroll the elf doesn’t need sign language or to read her lips to understand that. He lifts his hands as if in defeat and steps back so that the door swings open again and Oliv stumbles into the apartment.

Oliv has her back to Bull so that he cannot see exactly what she is signing but the elf’s replies are short and dismissive. From time to time, he looks up and shoots a look at Bull who is still standing out in the hall. Perhaps Krem was right and looking for roommates on the internet has not been his best idea. With every second he is standing here, he is more convinced that this particular elf wasn’t even aware of his own ad until a few moments ago.

As if she read his mind, Oliv whirls around and points at Bull. “Don’t go anywhere,” she says, her tone so strict he almost stands at attention. “I’m getting you this fucking room.”

It takes ten more minutes before the elf throws his hands into the air in defeat and turns away with a sigh. Oliv motions for Bull to follow her and he tentatively steps into the apartment.

Introductions are kept short and simple, with Oliv carrying the weight of the conversation. “This is Solas,” she signs and Bull shakes the elf’s hand. “He isn’t usually such an ass. Or at least after a while you stop noticing it.”

Solas gives her such a sour look that Bull is certain he is just going to kick them out again. Instead he leads them further into the apartment which opens into an unexpectedly large room with high walls reaching up all the way into the roof of the building. It’s an open space with one area to the left used as a living room, a large wooden table in the middle and a kitchen in the back, only partially separated by a low wall.

“This is a really nice place,” Bull signs and tries not to look too surprised. Light streams in through tall windows at either side of the room and underneath one of them, he can see several canvases and painting utensils. “Are you an artist?”

Solas follows his gaze and shakes his head, a hint of the first real smile on his face. “Not quite. I’m a translator.”

Bull cocks an eyebrow. “Not quite…”

“That’s why he needs a roommate to split the rent with,” Oliv signs and ignores Solas’ angry glare. “I know it’s surprising but Ancient Elven translations don’t bring in a whole lot of money.”

“What do you do? You are from Par Vollen?” Solas pushes past Oliv, obviously trying to change the topic.

“I got back from Seheron a few years back,” Bull signs. Might as well be honest if he really considered moving in with this guy. “Now I have my own security firm. I’m not home much and I work mostly nights. I just never like living alone.”

“You were a soldier?” There is no judgment in Oliv’s face. Just honest curiosity.

“Yup.” He taps against the patch covering his left eye. “And still got the handsome scars to prove it.”

“Solas was a soldier as well.”

Now that does come as a surprise. It must be plain as day on his face before he can catch himself because Solas makes a dismissive gesture.

“Different war entirely.” He does not seem mad, only a little irritated.

“You’re a mage?” Bull guesses and Solas nods.

“But it wasn’t the war against the Templars, if that’s what you are asking.” He doesn’t say more and Bull knows better than to push it.

There is a pause, all of three of them still and silent. Bull can feel Solas watching him, sizing him up. Finally, he sighs and as his shoulders slump in defeat, Oliv gives Bull another razor-sharp grin behind his back.

“So do you want to see your room?”

 

* * *

 

He moves in five days later and all of the Chargers offer to help. He likes to think it’s because they really want to but he is pretty sure it’s mostly to sate their curiosity. Bull’s promise of pizza and beer afterwards probably also helps. Krem is very good at lifting heavy shit, however, and a Qunari bed frame weighs about as much as a small car. When they finally hoist the thing through the apartment door, Oliv is there, sitting on the kitchen table and chatting with Dalish. Her dangling feet tap against the table leg and she gives him a bright smile as he squeezes past the bed frame into the apartment.

“Need some help with that?” She grins and sets her mug down on the tabletop next to her. One of Solas’ mugs. Of course.

“After carrying it up the stairs by ourselves? I think we’re good.” He does take the bottle of water she offers him, however. “It’s pretty heavy anyway.”

“Oh, I’m stronger than I look.” And then she flexes and kisses her bicep, which really should not be this endearing. The shit-eating grin that goes with it is just the icing on the cake.

The whole thing makes Dalish laugh hard enough to choke on her tea and to make Oliv look insufferably smug.

Solas does not show up until the late evening when the last of Bull’s furniture has been carried upstairs and all of his boxes pile up in the middle of his room. Bull cannot quite decide if Solas’ disappearance is rude or considerate but when he sees the two large bags of groceries the elf carries inside, it doesn’t really matter.

While the others are already relaxing in the living room and enjoying their well-earned beer, Bull strolls into the kitchen to see Solas unpack an ungodly amount of food onto the counter.

“I did not know how many helpers you had so I bought extra,” Solas signs instead of a greeting.

Bull is stumped, something that does not happen often. He blinks. “I thought I’d just buy pizza.”

Solas looks utterly offended at the mere thought and continues unpacking. Part of Bull really just wants to sit down on the couch and drink some beer - after walking up and down those stairs all day, his ankle is killing him. But he figures that might just give Solas the wrong impression and he does not want to mess up on the first day already.

“Do you want some help?” he signs and pulls one of the bags over the counter towards him.

Solas gives him a skeptical look. “Do you know how to cook?”

Bull grins and tries his best to imitate Solas’ earlier offended expression. “Now you’re just insulting me.”

Solas’ face is difficult to read, as it has been on the first day they met, but after a moment of hesitation he shrugs and opens one of the drawers to hand Bull a knife and a cutting board.

They work well together, somehow, and nobody is more surprised by this than Bull himself. The kitchen should be two small for two people to work side by side comfortably but Solas proves to be more perceptive than most people Bull has met in his life. He dodges and twists around him, reading Bull’s body language seemingly without a problem. Once Bull understands what Solas wants him to do, there is no need for communication or clarification. It’s almost comfortable, almost familiar, as if they did this every other day.

Oliv comes into the kitchen after a while and watches them work from the door. “You look like an old married couple,” she signs once she catches Solas’ eye and he rolls his eyes. “Just without the bickering.” She leans forward and steals a piece of bell pepper from Bull’s cutting board. He does not even try to swat away her hand. “Do you need some help?”

“I did not intend to poison my new roommate on the first night,” Solas signs and picks up a wooden spoon to stir his sauce.

“Cruel. And a completely inaccurate estimation of my cooking skills.”

She doesn’t even try to disprove him, however. Instead she hops onto the kitchen counter and watches them work, stealing food from time to time and expressing her opinion on Solas’ seasoning choices.

The food turns out better than Bull could have hoped for - despite Solas’ apparent “irrational fear of oregano”. The Chargers who are usually very solid on their love for pizza and beer and nothing more, don’t seem to mind a home-cooked meal for a change, as they gather around the large kitchen table. Even Skinner takes seconds and doesn’t complain even once about being forced to eat vegetables.

 

* * *

 

“Not to be rude,” Bull says and drops his gym bag next to the couch. “But you do have your own apartment, right?”

Oliv looks up from her phone and smiles beatifically. “I do. I even sleep there sometimes.”

“That’s a relief. I thought Solas just stuffed you into some drawer during the night.”

“Ah, I get it. Because I’m short.”

Bull grins and pats her on the head as he makes his way into the kitchen. “Very much so.”

“And here I thought you were trying not to be rude.”

He takes a bottle of water from the fridge and plops down on the couch next to her. His muscles are still burning from his workout, the kind of burn that promises to turn into an ache by morning. He rolls his shoulders and sighs.

“And just so you know, Solas actually asked me to come over this time.”

“Because you need an invitation? Don’t you have a key?”

She grins. “I do. For emergencies.”

“And what kind of emergency is it this time?” He points at the half empty bottle of beer on the couch table. “Out of booze?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” She picks up the bottle and takes a sip. “But as I understand it, it’s more of a translation problem. Solas is at the library right now but he should be back any minute.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “He needs my help.”

“So you’re a translator as well?” he asks innocently. She has been very cagey about her job until now, which means it’s either something spectacularly embarrassing or spectacularly illegal.

But Oliv doesn’t bite. “Nah, his Ancient Dwarven is just atrocious.”

They hear a key turn in the lock of the front door and both turn around to see Solas walk in with a stack of books in his arms. Oliv gets up to help him.

“I was just telling Bull that you cried out for my help because your Dwarven is abysmal.”

“That’s because it’s a barbaric language,” Solas counters. “There is no elegance in the syntax.”

Oliv smirks. “You’re just saying that because you don’t understand it. And as if Elven was any better. It’s all…” With her right hand she makes a vague wavy motion that ends in a spiraling plummet.

“It flows,” Solas signs. “But if that is too complex for you…”

They continue their bickering as they get ready to work and Bull watches them from his spot on the couch until their discussion gets too technical for him to understand the signs. There is something almost calming about the fact that their behavior doesn’t even change when they are hunched over their books.

Their obsession with language is alien to him. He has learned several languages over the years as part of his job. His Orlesian and Antivan are practically accent-free and his Common is as good as any native speaker’s. But those are spoken, lived languages. Not the remnants of a dead tongue, pieced together from books and ancient archaeological sites. And yet, watching Solas and Oliv’s excitement over their work is almost enough to make him think that there might be something to it.

After a while, he gets up to make some cocoa. When he carries two cups to the kitchen table and carefully sets them as far away from the library books as possible, Cadash looks up and gives him a warm smile.

“See?” She nudges Solas in the side. “I knew this roommate thing was a good idea. You never make me cocoa!”

“That’s because you always help yourself to everything anyway.” Solas takes one of the cups and turns to Bull. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Bull signs and sits down on one of the free chairs. There are several sheets of paper right in front of him, filled with Solas’ neat handwriting. He can make out the letters but not the language. “I didn’t know that Elven was written in Common script.”

Solas looks at him, his brow slightly furrowed. “That’s because it was never meant to be a written language. They only started writing it down after… the humans.” He pauses, his hands still in the air. “It’s meant to be sung.”

Bull sets down his own cup of cocoa, pushing away Solas’ papers just as a precaution. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

“Most people haven’t.” There is something sad in the lines around his eyes and when Bull looks at Oliv he can see her shaking her head, a movement almost too discreet to notice.

“I’m sorry, Solas.” He pauses, trying to think of the right sign. “Humans really fucked your people over.”

Solas watches him, his face perfectly still, and for a moment Bull thinks said the wrong thing. Then, there is just a sliver of a smile, albeit a sad one. “Yes,” he signs. “They really did.”

 

* * *

 

Bull did not lie when he told Solas that he wasn't not home much. He spends most of his time at work, usually only coming back to the apartment in the early hours of the morning to get some sleep. Unfortunately, this also means that unpacking his stuff takes much longer than he would have liked. He always hated living out of boxes and when three weeks after moving in, he stills finds himself rummaging through one of the cartons to find a clean shirt, he cannot help but feel irritated and annoyed. With a sigh, he settles back onto his bed, the only piece of furniture that is actually set up and ready for use. It’s still a nice room, but even the warm sunlight streaming in through the high windows cannot conceal the fact that it’s depressingly bleak and not exactly cosy.

A noise from the door makes him look up. Solas leans against the doorframe, arms folded in front of his chest. There is a steep line in between his eyebrows as he looks around the room, seemingly just as unimpressed with it as Bull is.

“I didn’t get around to decorating yet,” Bull signs and tries for a reassuring smile. “Or, you know, to assembling some of this furniture.”

“It’s your room.” It’s not exactly judgmental but then again, Solas is still difficult to read. Even for someone like Bull.

“My last room had a hole in the ceiling.” Bull shrugs. “So this is almost luxurious.”

Solas cocks an eyebrow and wanders a few steps further into the room, carefully stepping around a pile of Bull’s clothes on the floor. “I could paint something,” he signs but there is something hesitant about his movements. “On the wall. If you’re interested.”

“No offense, but I’ve seen your paintings. They might be a little bit too… dark for my taste.”

Solas snorts. “I did not plan to paint the plight of the elven people on your bedroom walls, Bull. Perhaps something more fitting. I’m guessing… dragons? Half-naked women on motorcycles?” He smirks like he’s laughing at a private joke. “Wolves howling at the moon?”

“I do like dragons.” Bull scratches his chin. “But I don’t really care as long as it’s pretty.”

“Pretty?” Solas repeats the sign with a questioning look on his face.

“Yeah, you know, nice. Pleasant to look at.”

“Not what I would have expected,” Solas signs but there is more curiosity than surprise in his expression.

Bull shrugs. “I’m a complex individual.”

The look Solas gives him is at least a third amusement. The rest is more difficult to read as he slowly circles back towards the door, watching Bull from the corner of his eye. He raises his hands almost hesitantly but when he signs, his movements are calm and graceful as ever. “I can work with that.”

 

Solas makes good on his proposal a few days later, just when Bull has almost forgotten they ever had this conversation. He notices that the door to his room is ajar even though he is sure he closed it when he left the house for work. A familiar feeling of unease nestles in his stomach - one that does not belong in sunlit apartments that smell of sandalwood and cinnamon.

He takes a deep breath, reminds himself that he does not live alone and slowly opens the door the rest of the way.

The only reason why Bull isn’t able to immediately fully appreciate the painting on his wall is the fact that Solas is half-naked. In Bull’s defense, it is a pretty distracting sight. He is not quite sure where or when Solas got rid of his shirt. All he sees is the dark smooth skin of his back, all the way down to the waistband of his low-riding linen pants. He is barefoot, as always. When Solas stretches to reach a spot higher up on the wall, the muscles in his arms and shoulders shift quite unfairly and Bull clears his throat before he remembers that Solas won’t be able to hear him. It feels almost indecent to stare like this but he also cannot look away.

Little flecks of paint are scattered over Solas’ skin - drops of red, gold and purple almost like freckles. Bull’s eyes wander from his shoulders to his paint-smeared hands and then finally take in the painting that takes up the entire wall opposite of the door.

It’s not a painting, not really. It’s a mural. And it’s not pretty. It’s breathtaking.

It’s a dragon, its wings spreading all the way to the edges of the wall and its scales a mosaic of warm colors. From its open jaws spring golden flames, curling themselves around the creature and reaching up to the ceiling. The background is an intricate mix of different shapes and colors, more shades of red and gold standing out against a black base. It takes Bull a moment to recognize them as the shapes he sees when he looks in the mirror. The lines of his own tattoos, woven into Solas’ painting.

When he looks back to Solas, he sees that he has turned around, silently watching him. There is more paint on his chest and a large red streak across his left cheek. His face is just as calm as always but Bull thinks he detects just the slightest hint of tension in his shoulders as he waits for Bull’s reaction.

“This is…” Bull struggles to find the right sign. He brings his fist to his chest and leaves it there - not a word, not a sign. But Solas seems to understand. He smiles and averts his eyes, quickly passing his paint brush from one hand to the other.

Bull steps closer to the wall until he is almost face to face with the dragon. The paint is still wet, slightly glistening in the afternoon sunlight.

“Nobody has ever done anything like this for me before,” Bull signs. “Thank you.”

Solas drops his brush into a water-filled mason jar on the floor. “I don’t often get the chance to paint for other people. So perhaps I should be the one thanking you.”

Bull takes a step to the side and points at the shapes of the mural’s background. “So… you noticed my tattoos.” He grins.

Solas makes a dismissive sound in the back of his throat but cannot turn around fast enough to hide the quickly darkening tips of his ears. “You are without a shirt often enough,” he signs, his jaw set. “They would be difficult not to notice.”

“If you say so…” Bull steps back to take in the whole of the mural and from the corner of his eye he sees Solas moving back a step as well. It’s a thing Bull has noticed since moving in. Since that first time they cooked together in the kitchen, really. The way Solas moves around him, always keeping an equal amount of distance, never allowing Bull to close the space between them. It’s fine, he thinks. As far as people avoiding him goes, it could be worse. He has seen people flinch whenever he moved. It comes with the size. Maybe a bit with the horns. But Solas’ evasion feels different, somehow.

Bull knows better than to push. He has learned how to take a step back, give people room to breathe and then make their own decisions. Usually, he is pretty good at guessing in which direction people will go. But Solas remains frustratingly difficult to read, dodging him in every way.

Solas leaves him with the mural. Gold and red and little parts of him and little parts of Bull. And not a whole lot else to go on.

 

* * *

 

He comes home to find Oliv sprawled across one of the large couches in the living room. She’s not wearing her prosthetic so she is holding the bottle of whiskey she is nursing between her thighs. She is also watching one of those ghost shows that Bull hates. He shrugs off his jacket and plops down next to her. She somehow manages to take up more space on the couch than he does. Almost casually he snatches the remote from the backrest behind her and ignores her protest as he changes the channel to something that won’t give him nightmares.

“Control over the remote is one of the privileges of actually living here,” he tells her and is rewarded with an actual pout. “You could always go back to your own place to watch that stuff.”

“I had a shitty day and didn’t want to drink alone. And since you have robbed me of the riveting Zak Bagans’ company, you will have to do.” She nudges him with both feet until he wraps his hand around her ankles to stop her from digging her toes into his thigh. He can hear her breath hitch but when he looks up, her face is completely calm. She offers him the bottle and he takes a tentative sip. It’s good stuff, not the Dwarven swill he somehow expected. He inspects the label before handing back the bottle.

“How did you get your hands on Starkhaven whiskey?”

She shrugs. “I have my connections.”

He is tempted to dig his phone out of his pocket to look up the price of one of these bottles since he is pretty certain they cost about half a month’s rent, but she pushes the bottle back into his hands before he can even move. After a few more sips, he doesn’t really care anymore about where the bottle came from.

After everything, it really shouldn’t come as such a surprise that Oliv can hold her liquor. But she is so short. Compared to him just a tiny thing, really. It should be basic biology. Except that it isn’t. They have almost finished the bottle before she even starts to seem a little less focused than usual. And still she doesn’t slur her words, not even a little bit. Bull feels a light buzz building somewhere in the back of his head and he definitely blames the whiskey for allowing Oliv to stick her toes underneath his thigh.

Apart from her perpetually cold feet, she is good company.

“Soooo,” she says and leans forward to pluck the bottle from his hands. “How are things with the roommate? Still getting along?”

“Good. He painted the wall in my room.”

A smile curls her lips. “I saw. Very impressive.” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and it’s kind of distracting. He looks at the dark screen of the TV instead.

“It is.” He feels her move her toes underneath him. “He’s an impressive guy.” It’s the truth but it still feels a bit odd to say it out loud.

Oliv snorts out a laugh, the first truly drunk sound she has made all night. “True. But please don’t say that to his face. His head will get too big and his neck will snap.”

“I will take that under consideration.” He takes back the bottle to give his hands something to do. The booze is slowly but surely working its way into his system, a warm comfortable buzz from his chest to the tips of his fingers. He can feel Oliv watching him.

“You are curious,” she says after a moment and when he looks at her the smile on her face is almost sly. “You can ask, you know.”

He shrugs. Perhaps she is more drunk than she let on. “Whatever goes on between the two of you is none of my business.”

“Mhm.” It’s a sound of disagreement that he isn’t sober enough to consider further. This time, the curling of her toes feels almost like a little kick. “We are not, by the way. Fucking, I mean.”

He watches her face, flushed but calm. “But you want to?” Okay, perhaps he is also a little bit more drunk than he thought.

This would be the moment for her to peddle back. To act embarrassed or coy. Instead she just shrugs. “We’ve been doing this dance for years. To set in our ways, perhaps.” She doesn’t seem particularly sad about it. “He’s a good friend anyway. A pain in the ass, but a good friend. I like to think he lets me in more than most. But I can still see where I’m unwanted.”

Bull has seen them around each other. Beyond the bickering and the sarcasm and the years of familiarity. He’s not sure he agrees with the “unwanted” part of her speech but it seems somehow cruel to address it. Instead, he offers her the last rest from the bottle and she empties it in two big gulps.

 

* * *

 

The door flies open with enough force to make it crash into the wall and Bull almost jumps out of his seat when Solas barges into the apartment.

Something is wrong. There is a hastiness to Solas’ movements that Bull has never seen before and that alone is enough to make him sit up. He waves with one arm as Solas rushes past him but evidently it is not enough to get his attention. When Solas starts climbing on the kitchen counter to reach the upper cupboard, Bull decides it is enough. With a groan he gets up from the couch and steps behind Solas. He doesn’t even have to stretch to open the cupboard door and Solas turns around with an exasperated huff. He looks up at Bull who only now realizes he is practically trapping the elf between himself and the counter. Quickly he steps back.

“What is going on?” he signs, taking another step back just to be sure.

Solas looks pale. There is a strange mix of worry and annoyance on his face, a small tight frown in between his eyebrows. For a moment, Bull thinks he will not budge. But then Solas’ shoulders slump and he sighs.

“There is blood on the stairs.”

Bull is sure he must have misunderstood.

“What?”

Annoyance shortly gains the upper hand. “Blood. On the stairs.” As if signing the whole thing more slowly and with an air of exasperation would make things more clear.

Bull shakes his head. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oliv.”

There is a twinge of fear in Bull’s chest. “Is she hurt?”

Solas shrugs, but tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. “Usually.” He points up toward the open cupboard. “I need the first aid kit.”

Bull picks it up from the highest shelf but the gnawing feeling in his chest won’t leave. Why anyone would put their first aid kit somewhere they cannot reach is beyond him. But before he can ask, Solas has plucked the small case from his hand and is out of the door.

He leaves it open behind him and Bull reads this as an invitation to come along.

He should not be surprised that Solas has a key to her apartment but he somehow is anyway. She always comes to them. He has never even been in her apartment, he realizes as he follows Solas inside. It’s small. Not just the apartment itself but the furniture as well. Dwarf-sized. It would be funny to him if it weren’t for the trail of blood on the carpet.

It leads them straight to the bathroom and straight to her. She is on the floor, propped up against the tub, and she looks horrible. Her nose is broken, blood caking the lower half of her face and her neck. Most of the blood, however, comes from the steady trickle running down her right arm and soaking the front of her shirt.

“Oh hey, guys,” she says. “I didn’t hear you knocking.”

Solas makes a harsh noise at the back of his throat as he rushes towards her and kneels down next to her.

“Fuck.” Bull pulls a towel from the shelf and gets down on his knees on her other side. “Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“If it looks like I’ve been shot in the shoulder, then I’m sorry to disappoint.” She smiles weakly. “Good news is, I think it went straight through.”

“Fantastic,” he says flatly.

Solas clicks his tongue and makes an impatient gesture with one hand while starting rummaging around in the first aid kit with the other.

“Eh, I think we need to take off your shirt,” Bull says.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Her smile is back but it’s even weaker than before and she leans her head back against the side of the tub. “This went a little differently in my imagination though.”

The chuckle building in Bull’s chest in only half hysteria. Solas hands him a pair of scissors and he carefully starts cutting the fabric of her shirt. “You just stay awake now, boss.”

“Aw,” she says but the word turns into a wince when he gently pulls the blood-soaked fabric from her shoulder. She was right about one thing at least. He can see the exit wound on the other side. He shows Solas who just nods and pulls a tiny flask from the first aid kit. When he opens it, the strong sharp scent of elfroot rises up and mingles with the metallic smell of blood.

“Oh, the good stuff.” Oliv obediently swallows when Solas carefully pours the contents of the flask into her mouth, trying to avoid touching her broken nose, and wipes away the small trickle running down her chin.

“I need to heal her,” Solas signs and taps a finger against the leather of the harness that holds Oliv’s prosthetic arm in place. Bull understands and begins unclasping the buckles.

“Not to doubt Solas’ skills here, but shouldn’t we be taking you to a hospital?” he asks Oliv but she just nods wearily.

“No hospitals.” She grimaces. “The last time I went, they took my arm. And called the cops on me. In that order.”

So instead, Bull wipes away some of the blood from her shoulder so that Solas can get a better look and then watches as he presses his hands against the wound. Oliv grits her teeth but only makes a high-pitched wailing sound when Solas’ magic flows from his fingertips, reaching into her body and slowly stitching the torn muscle and flesh. It’s a sound that goes straight to Bull’s bones and feels a lot like ice water. He reaches for her hand and squeezes it until Solas slumps back onto the balls of his feet and lowers his hands.

The wound still doesn’t look pretty but more like a fresh scar now. The bleeding has stopped and when he takes a look at her back it is the same picture on the other side. Relief washes through him.

The setting of Oliv’s nose is almost child’s play after that, even though the sound is just as sickening as Bull remembers and there is still quite a bit of swelling, even after Solas used more of his healing magic. Before he pulls back, he quickly swipes his thumb over Oliv’s cheeks, wiping away a tear.

As Bull gets up from the cold bathroom floor, there is the familiar dull pain of his ankle but he ignores it and helps Solas to his feet as well.

“How did this even happen?”

Solas looks at him intently, like he is trying to measure him up. Then he sighs and signs something Bull doesn’t recognize. The sign for dwarf but run past his throat. When Solas notices his confusion, he fingerspells it out for him. C-A-R-T-A.

“Oh.” Of course. How has he missed that? He looks down to Oliv whose smile is somewhat apologetic.

“I’m usually very good at my job,” she says and gingerly wipes away the blood from underneath her nose with the remnants of her shirt.

“So getting shot is not a habit of yours?” He cannot help the nettling feeling of irritation in his gut as he uses the sink to wash the blood from his hands. He has seen worse in his line of work. Worse injuries. Wounds that could not be stitched closed by a bit of magic. But it’s not the same.

“Not when I can avoid it.”

He dries his hands on the only clean corner of the towel. “I’m going to pick you up now. Tell me when it hurts.”

“I think I had a dream like this once.” She winks but as soon as he has scooped her up from the floor, she wearily leans her head against his chest. “Woah, that was a lot of elfroot.”

“You don’t say.” He carries her out of the bathroom. “Bed or couch?”

“Couch, please.” Her words are slurred and her breath is hot even through the cotton of his shirt. As soon as he has put her down onto the couch, she curls up into a ball and closes her eyes.

He wonders if it’s a good idea to let her sleep when she has lost this much blood but when he turns around to ask Solas, he is just in time to witness the elf stumbling over the threshold of the living room. Bull makes a quick step forward, his ankle protesting against the sudden movement, and catches Solas before he can fall to the ground.

He half drags, half carries him to the couch. Solas is pale and sweating but he looks more annoyed about it than anything else.

“Used up too much mana?” Bull signs and helps him get comfortable between Oliv’s ridiculous amount of couch cushions.

Solas nods. “Just need sleep.” His hands move more slowly than usual, his movements almost sluggish.

“I think you both do.” He pulls a blanket from the backrest of the couch and Solas pulls it around himself with a grateful smile before his eyes slide closed. Bull shakes his head and finds another blanket for Oliv who has already started shivering in just her bra and jeans.

Not sure what to do, he stands in front of the couch and watches them as they drift off to sleep completely. He doesn’t want to move them but he also doesn’t want to leave them alone. The memory of Oliv bleeding on the bathroom floor still too fresh in his mind. Imagines mingling with older memories, things he pushed far into the furthest corner of his brain.

He steps back, every muscle in his body tense. He doesn’t think he makes a sound but Oliv opens her eyes and looks at him, her mouth a soft tired curve.

“Stay,” she says and so he does.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up, he finds himself in the same position as when he fell asleep. Oliv is curled up against his right side, snoring slightly. She looks better in the soft morning light streaming in through the window. There is even some color back in her cheeks and the swelling in her nose is almost completely gone.

He turns his head a little to the left and groans. There is a kink in his neck. Because apparently falling asleep while sitting on a couch with two other people snuggling up to him isn’t the most ideal thing to do. A shame, really.

At some point in the night, Solas has moved closer to him, until his body is flush against Bull’s side and his head rest against his shoulder. It’s completely unexpected and a little strange and somehow really, really nice. At Bull’s groan, Solas stirs and opens his eyes. Asleep one second, absolutely awake and aware the next. If it weren’t for the long sleep lines creasing the right side of his face, Bull would think he didn’t sleep at all.

His smile is a bit sleepy, however. Just a little too slow and too honest. When Bull tries to return it, another flash of pain shoots through his neck and he grimaces instead. Solas blinks, concern slowly spreading over his face. He reaches up, carefully curling his fingers against the nape of Bull’s neck. The is a questioning look on his face. Asking for confirmation. Asking for permission. Asking for _something_ and all Bull can do is nod.

He has almost forgotten how healing magic feels, the slow syrupy warmth working itself through his skin and into his stiff muscles. It spreads from where Solas’ fingers rest against his neck up his scalp and down his spine. He cannot help but close his eyes and lean back into the touch. It feels fucking amazing and he is not surprised by the groan that escapes his lips.

The magic trickles to a stop but Solas doesn’t move his hand, his fingertips still hot against Bull’s skin. Bull opens his eyes and Solas is right there. Closer, somehow. Close enough to make out the freckles on his nose and cheeks like paint spatters. Close enough to see his own reflection in his eyes as he looks at him, serious as ever. Close enough.

Bull knows better than to push. He offers the space and waits for Solas to close it.

Solas pulls himself up and presses his lips on his and it’s nothing like Bull expected it to be. There is no hesitation once he has taken the leap, no reservation once he has made his decision. His kiss is insistent, one hand still curled around the nape of his neck, the other gently cupping his face. Bull makes a surprised sound but has enough sense reach up and hold on to Solas’ waist before the elf can topple over the edge of the couch with his own enthusiastic momentum. Solas hardly seems to notice and only takes the chance to swipe his tongue into Bull’s mouth. He gently runs his dull nails over Bull’s scalp and must have felt the sound this draws from Bull's chest since he smiles against his lips before slowly pulling back.

Bull blinks as if against bright sunlight. Solas face is flushed, his eyes wide and dark, and looks at Bull as if he is a particularly complex problem he is trying to figure out. Bull can think of an easy solution but waits patiently for Solas to lean back in.

There is a loud cough to his right and he almost flinches. Both of them turn their heads and stare at Oliv, awake and alive and her face so red nobody ever would have suspected last night’s blood loss.

“Sorry,” she says and slowly gets up, the blanket falling from her shoulders. “I should....”

Solas’ hand darts out, faster than even Bull could have anticipated, and grabs on to her wrist. She freezes and stares at him. He doesn’t move, his fingers firmly curled around her arm. His other hand is still behind Bull’s neck. His hands don’t need to sign to say it.

_Stay._

There is just the smallest moment of hesitation. Years of history weighing down on them, Bull thinks. But in the end, she leaps, just like Solas did.

They kiss exactly like two people who wanted each other for years and never dared to make a move. Not sure where to touch first, not sure if coming up for air is ever going to be worth it. Oliv only pulls back with a wince when Solas brushes against her nose.

“Still broken, remember?”

He catches her hands in his and pulls her close again, pressing his lips against the slope of her jaw this time. She makes a noise that has Bull shift uncomfortably. They are basically sitting in his lap, after all, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious.

Oliv turns her head and smiles at him. He knows the look in her eyes, even now, glazed over with something else entirely. Kind of dangerous, he thinks. Kind of hot.

“So, are you just going to watch?”

She doesn’t need to ask twice.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Chvrches "Up in Arms":  
>  _I'm waiting for the landslide_  
>  _To focus our eyes ahead._  
>  _I'm keeping track and hoping_  
>  _That you will follow instead._
> 
> You can also follow my [tumblr](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com) if you're interested.


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